Song Fics
by dreamingofanOTP
Summary: In here I'm going to post lots of song fics so if you want to come and check them out I would totally love that! Feel free to review (I really want to know what you think!). Also, this is going to stay in progress and I will post my song fics when I think of them. Most of them are going to be all depressing though, because that's how my brain works. Have fun!
1. I'm Falling For You

**Author's Note: **So this is my first fanfiction (but okay, who am I kidding? It's more of a ficlet) and I would love any reviews you have for me if anyone actually reads this. I was inspired by a song, you should go listen to it, it's a good song. And I'm sure that you can figure out what's going on all by yourself... (and yes I may have changed a few details but please don't hate me for it okay, have fun I think.)  
I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of it's characters nor do I make any money from this.

* * *

**Falling For You by Chester See  
**I yell, but it's too late. He's already shot himself through the head. I suddenly realize that I don't have very much time left to save you. My phone rings in my hand, startling me. It's you. Oh god, why do I have to talk to you? There are so many things that need to be said, but the words coming out of my mouth aren't the things I want to tell you. I want to say how much I'm going to miss your smile, and the way you stick by me. How you're the only one who listens to me when no one else will. So many of my feelings I hid away from you. Nothing will ever be right, this is the last time i ever get to see you. I never wanted it to be like this, but i have to hurry. I whisper my final words and cast the phone aside, stepping up to the edge of the building. Hearing you scream my name from the ground below tears me me in two. Tho only thing left to do now is jump.

_I'm falling, John,_ I think as I lean forward,_ I'm falling for you._


	2. Blvd of Broken Dreams

****

Author's Note: This is my second song fic (ficlet) and it's set as a post-apocalyptic post-reichenbach. First person Sherlock. Okay now you can go read it.  
I don't own Sherlock or any of the places or characters. that's all BBC.

* * *

**Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day  
**I walk through the empty streets, the charred remains of people and places crumbling. Smoke comes from everywhere, pouring over the sky. The silence is deafening as I wander down the familiar road with a ruined sign labeled as Baker Street. I stop at a flat, the gold numbers 221 glitter from the rubble. Pushing my way inside, I see the blackened bones of someone I knew. Touching the frail bones it turns to dust under my fingers.  
"Mrs. Hudson," I say, my voice loud. The name triggers my mind to the reality of the situation. But now i have one person left to find. Stepping out of the place I called home, I continue the turning streets to the black pillars of the former trees. The stone graves have remained perfect, the only things that made it. I'm blind to the other names on the headstones because only one matters to me. My own. The sight that greets me is the last thing I would ever wish to find. Dropping down, I clutch the broken body of the only reason I kept myself alive. My tears fall, the last rain that will ever fall on this dead world, as I lay down between the body and the grave. Now it will be my final resting place, like it should be.  
"Don't worry John," I whisper as I close my eyes, "I'll see you soon."


	3. What I've Done

**Author's Note: **So here is another depressing song ficlet for you to read... The song popped up on my pandora and I thought it would be the perfect tune for a suicide!John. It's kind of depressing so if you feel like being sad then you should probably read it. I know that I ship Johnlock as my biggest OTP, but this is more of a bromance angsty kind of story... Read and review, and follow me if you want!

I dont own the things that Moffat does to us. I just twist them a bit to make them more depressing.

**What I've Done by Linkin Park**  
The thunder cracked and the rain splattered across the window pane. John stared with empty eyes out into the gray world. The weather matched his mood drop for drop. Except by now there was no more rain left for John. But the sky would cry for him, show everyone how he felt. It was almost three years since John had let Sherlock take the leap from St. Barts. With a heavy sigh he leaned his forehead against the cold glass to let the rain mimic tears on his face. Closed eyes and the pictures flash through his mind. The phone in his hand. The tall frame at the edge of the building. The coat opening like useless, broken wings. A broken body with blood. So much blood. Blurred faces pulling him away from his only friend. John's eyes flew open, his breath catching in his throat. He felt so empty. His life was no more now that he had no one to share it with. Shuddering, he pulled himself away from the window and grabbed his coat from the rack by the door. Heavy footsteps followed by an opening door the heavy sound of rain falling into the streets. The slam and John was wandering the empty streets with the water drenching him. The weight of the water pulled his hair flat, dripping into his eyes. But there was no reason that would stop him from where he wanted to go. The road beneath his feet was comforting and familiar in a way that rested on his shoulders hunching him over. The rain was relentless and there was flash of lightning that lit up the whole sky. Up ahead of John were tall pines and shining graves. As if there was a path, John weaved his way through the death to the simple black headstone. The tree guarding it was heavy with rain and the branches drooped, brushing the headstone softly. John looked on, his body rigid, back straight. He opened his mouth to speak but no words could pass his lips. A whisper of breath before he shut his mouth. A straight line on his face. Perfectly still. His chest rose and fell as he pulled out a ragged scarf from his jacket. John draped the cloth over the wet grave and lightly ran his fingers over the memory. He sharply turned away, moving away from Sherlock. He wanted more than anything in the world to reverse time and change the past. The world wasn't a better place with him instead of Sherlock. Walking faster to get away he moved fluidly with a purpose. The ground was slick and John moved too fast. His feet pulled away and the ground rushed up to meet him. He could feel a sharp pain in his right hand and the drops of red mixing with the rain. John stared at the gash for a moment, his palm growing numb, before wiping his hand across his chest, smearing the blood across the black and white shirt he wore. Physical pain was over so fast. But the other tore his mind apart with regret and shame. Physicality. Over quickly. A plan began to form as John pushed himself to his feet and continued on back to 221b.

The skritch of a rope being tied in a knot. A chair being pulled across hardwood flooring. John stepped up so he could slip the noose around his neck. The fibers itched his skin but that wasnt something John needed to worry about any longer. With a hint of a smile flickering on his face, was ready.  
His eyes were glassy and lifeless even before he stepped down.

A slamming door. Sirens wailing in the distance. Sherlock wouldn't let go of the cold body. It had been just barely warm when he found it. He held it close as if to revive it. Paramedics and police swarmed around him like little ants. But none of them understood. A bitter tear fell down Sherlock's cheek and splashed onto John's. But nothing would happen. Because no one could bring his friend back to life. No such thing as a miracle. Shaking his head and curling his body around the corpse he held on as tight as he could to preserve the feel of his only friend in his arms. Funny how the only thing that could make Sherlock want comfort in another person was when that person was finally dead. Death was something that was not uncommon in his world. But the death of someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with was like his heart had shattered into millions of pieces and stuck on his insides, too tiny to even see where they were to remove them. Pressing his hand onto the body there was a crinkling noise and Sherlock pulled out a piece of paper from the jacket. On it were these words:

_Sherlock,_  
_You died so I could live. But real death can't be as painful as the day you jumped. I've died every day since then. I wish that you lived. No one deserved to live as much as you did. And if somehow you lived (it's impossible, I know. I can hear you saying it in my head!) then I'm glad that that's the way things worked. I left your scarf on your grave. I'd like to be buried next to you. Not in some war veteran cemetery. You would understand that's not where I really belong. I belong right next to you. My only friend. Maybe I'll see you again someday in another life. The only way to do that is to create death. So I hope that we can see each other, Sherlock. You were the only friend that I really had. I'm going to miss you._  
_Your friend, _  
_John._

A small smile ran along Sherlock's lips. John was the only person who would ever understand him. Maybe one day they would see each other again. Even though it was impossible. Just this one time, Sherlock allowed himself to feel totally human and believe that there was a truth to the words on the page. Laying the body down, he let himself be lead to his gravestone where a ragged blue scarf sat waiting. Lifting it, Sherlock wrung out the water before carefully wrapping it around his neck where it would stay for as long as it took to find John again.


End file.
